Requiem for a Lost Love
by Rogue Tomato
Summary: One man stands in front of the doors, not moving towards, and not moving away. Two agents stand watch, wondering: can anything help their hurting friend? Spoilers up through "The Magical Place." One-shot.


**A/N:** This takes place sometime after "The Magical Place," but before "T.R.A.C.K.S." and well before the craziness that was "Turn, Turn, Turn."

Thank you to my friend **sockie1000** for her continued awesomeness and willingness to beta for me. Another big thank you to **SongBirdie,** who ensured these characters sounded like themselves.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Marvel: Agents of Shield, nor its characters. The quotes at the beginning of this story were taken from "The Bridge," which also does not belong to me.

* * *

"_A whole class… on women." Coulson shakes his head, clearly baffled by such an idea. "In my day, you had to figure them out. Solving the puzzle was half the fun."_

"_You solve a lot of puzzles in your day?" Ward asks playfully._

_Coulson smiles. "A few. Some more worth it than others. One was… especially rewarding."_

_Ward hesitates only momentarily, not sure if it's appropriate to ask. But the question is out of his mouth before he can reign it in. "What happened?"_

"_I died."_

_Of course._

"_She wasn't level seven, sir?"_

_Coulson gets that look on his face, the one Ward sees so often he should name it. It's the one where Coulson is re-living his past, the good parts, anyway…_

"_She was a cellist. Second chair, Portland Symphony. I saw her play whenever I was in town." He pauses here, lost in what is clearly a pleasing memory. "Ever see a beautiful woman play the cello?"_

_Ward shakes his head, because when has he had any free time since he graduated from the academy, no, since he _joined_ the academy, to do something as pedestrian as see a symphony? There have always been more important things to attend to in his down time, like training, studying, and more training. But as Ward looks at Coulson, he knows that his leader does not share the same thoughts as he. Seeing this cellist _was_ the most important thing to him._

_And probably still would be had an Asgardian spear not pierced his body._

_A slight smirk and a small shake of the head is Coulson's only reaction to Ward's response. _

"_It's something else."_

* * *

"How long has he been standing there?"

Over the past several months, Ward has become very familiar with May's methods so it's no surprise to him that she's tracked the two of them down and approached him so stealthily. He can't be upset at her. He'd done the same thing himself, after all. That's why he's here watching the lone figure standing across the street under the performance hall's bright entrance lights. He appeared unaware of Ward's arrival thirty minutes prior, and seems equally as oblivious to a second member of his team watching his back. However Ward had no illusions that Agent Coulson is ignorant to his surroundings and feels confident that if his presence is unwelcome, he would have been ordered back to the bus a long while ago.

"How long?" she repeats.

"A while," Ward discloses, looking sideways at his companion.

To a random passerby, Agent May would look at ease, relaxed even. But Ward can see how her eyes continuously flick from Coulson, to the surrounding area, back to Coulson again. How she leans ever so slightly toward the road, as if her body is encouraging her to close the distance between them. How her eyes narrow when Coulson shifts from one foot to another.

"He never listens to me," she mumbles, but he hears it all the same and he wants to smile but doesn't. Ward quite wisely remains silent and stoic, hoping to keep her wrath directed away from him. He has no qualms about their unscheduled stop here, especially not after everything that the team has been through over the past few weeks. However, self-preservation kicks in and he's in no mood to argue with the tense woman standing next to him.

Instead he returns his gaze back to his boss who has yet to make a move toward or away from the performance hall.

"What are you doing here?" he asks lightly.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she shoots back at him.

He shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. If she's not going to explain herself, then he's in no hurry to, either.

"Wait a minute." Spinning, May turns to look at Ward head-on. "Did you _know_ he was coming here tonight?"

"No!" Ward's response is immediate and vehement. Perhaps too much so, as May tilts her head skeptically at him. "Oh c'mon," he continues. "Everyone knew he'd try to get here at some point."

Her frown deepens, but Ward's answer apparently satisfies her and she turns again toward the street. Ward had, of course, left out the part where he'd walked in on Coulson as he was reviewing the symphony's schedule, how he had done his best to keep the briefing moving along so Coulson would have a decent chance at getting here for the second act, and how he had actually volunteered to finish up the paperwork for once so Coulson wouldn't feel guilty for leaving his team behind for a few hours.

Ward knows that May has been wary ever since they'd entered Oregon airspace. There had been more than one closed-door meeting between May and Coulson, and Ward can only imagine what was said between them.

"It's going to rain soon," she says, and Ward quirks a single eyebrow at the offhand remark and can't stop his eyes from glancing up at the sky.

"Probably."

"He never listens to me," she repeats.

"He knows the risks," he reminds her.

"He shouldn't have come. If she sees him…"

"She won't," Ward states firmly.

"You don't know that."

"Coulson is careful."

"He shouldn't be here."

"He _needs_ to be here," Ward whispers a bit harshly, but May is already shaking her head. Ward cuts her off before she can bring up a counterargument. "He's _different_, May. I know you see it too. Ever since we got him back…" Ward stops and shakes his head, dispelling the images of how his boss, his friend, had looked when he had returned from being held by Raina in that rundown shack. The haunted eyes were the only giveaway behind Coulson's brave, but false, stature.

"It will be good for him to see her," he says after a few calming breaths. "He _needs_ this."

He holds May's glare as he wills her understand. She can't ignore how things have changed since that time. How Coulson stares off sometimes, staring at a point in space as if memories were playing before his eyes alone. That he spends hours and hours alone in his office, doing who knows what, and the thing is, Ward is certain May knows so much more than he about what Coulson is going through. He's positive Coulson has shared more about his experience with her than with anyone else. He knows what kind of relationship the two of them have – one that's built on years of dependency and trust.

So how it's possible for May to stand here and say that this visit isn't worth the risk, well, it baffles him and angers him and he'll stand his ground until he can make her see what he sees – that Coulson is a man in desperate need of… something. Perhaps that something is closure, or hope, or maybe it's merely a glimpse of that "something else" Coulson had described with such conviction to him on a day not long ago.

"And you think this will help him?" May lashes out, and though it is asked in anger, Ward can sense the genuine curiosity behind her question. "Being able to see her, but not speak to her? What will that do for him, Agent Ward?"

May tossing out his title throws him for a moment, but he understands what she wants. When working day-in and day-out with someone, such as Coulson, it is easy to teeter back and forth on the thin line of professional evaluation and personal concern. His worry for Coulson is no less than how he felt when Skye went undercover in Malta, or when Fitz and Simmons had hours, and then only minutes, to save Jemma from the Chitauri alien virus.

These moments, and many others that have gone by, and the many others he is sure will follow, go past the professional. Very quickly, this team that Coulson had assembled had become much more than that. They are now a family.

They stand in silence for a long time. Ward contemplating his answer to her question, with May patiently waiting to hear it.

"I don't know," he answers finally because right now he can't be Agent Ward. He doesn't want to be. "All I know is that I'm going to stand here and watch his back for as long as he needs it. And I think, deep down, that's what you want to do, too," he adds after a moment's pause.

May stands motionless, eying him warily, but eventually her body language betrays her and she huffs out a sigh, placing her hands on her hips.

"Are you deliberately trying to damage my calm?" she asks.

"On the contrary," Ward says, softening his glare as well. "I'm doing everything in my power to keep it."

May offers up a small smirk at that, and they both turn their watchful gaze back to the solitary figure across the way.

Time passes. Ward's unsure of how much, but Coulson still has yet to make a move into the hall. On the contrary, it seems as though he is starting to move away from it, inch by inch, until he's nearly at the curb of the road.

"Go back to the bus," May says suddenly, cutting through the silence with her quiet order.

"But-"

"Go," she interrupts. "Get everyone ready for a 2230 departure."

Ward wants to argue some more, and even starts to, before he replays her words in his mind. 2230. About 30 minutes after the concert should end. He doesn't say anything to her… just offers up a small smile, a final glance at the man across the street, and strolls confidently back into the shadows.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

May sighs and watches Ward go before crossing the street. She does not do anything to hide her approach. She just steps up alongside Coulson as they both silently regard the performance hall. From here, May can hear faint music from within; it's slow and melancholy, but beautiful.

"Made up your mind yet?" she asks.

Coulson shrugs. "Right now I'm thinking I'd sooner call up my dentist and schedule a root canal than walk through that door."

"That might be just as painful as standing here all night in the rain," she says quietly.

"What rain?" he asks, distractedly.

"Just wait."

Coulson hums in response, then shakes his head sadly. "You're right, you know. I've been waiting for a long time for this, and it _has_ hurt. A lot. But the thing is, it _still_ hurts."

"You're the one who taught me that sometimes it's good to leave the past in the past," May says and she moves to stand between Coulson and the door. "There is no hope of ever changing it."

"Changing it? No," Coulson agrees. "But regretting it?"

May stays silent, unsure of what to say. Ward is right, Coulson has changed. But unlike Ward, she knows why. She's seen the medical files. She knows about Tahiti, or more accurately, the lack thereof. May has seen a foundation of trust in an organization, and its leader, shaken for a man who committed his life to them both. A man who lived, and in essence died, for the causes and people he believed in.

"Why are you here, Phil?"

"I thought that was rather obvious."

"If it were obvious, you would have been inside long before I got here," she says evenly. "Even before Ward got here. So what's going on?"

"I've had a song stuck in my head for days. Do you know what it is? '_Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen_,'" he answers after May shakes her head. "First heard it here… a lifetime ago. It means 'I am lost to the world.' It's beautiful, expressive, and magnificently morose."

"It sounds depressing," May curtly remarks.

"And that's just typical, isn't it? I've been waiting all this time, and now that I'm here…" Coulson trails off and shakes his head. "Now that I'm here, I'm just sad."

"Phil…"

"I've had a lifetime of pains and adventures. Highs and lows. But the greatest thing that has ever happened to me was _her_," he says, gesturing wildly to the door before looking at May for the first time. "At the time, I thought I knew what I was getting myself into when I joined SHIELD. The knowledge that I was giving up… this," he says, again motioning to the doors in front of him, encompassing the life beyond that he could have had.

"But it's more, so much more than that. I see that now. It's the warmth of a hug, the chill of snow, the sound of a beautiful melody." He laughs, but it is brittle and holds no joy, fittingly just as the first raindrops drizzle down from the sky. "It's the scent of rain in Portland. It's all the things I had to give up, all at once. In our line of work, how did I forget that what we are given can also be taken away?"

May takes in his gaze for a moment, only a moment, before the sadness and pain she sees in his eyes are too much for her and she looks away, back toward the doors.

"Sometimes you have to be apart from the person you love," she says knowingly. "It may not mean that you love her any less, but at least she is safe."

"She told me she loved me," Coulson says, his voice wavering just a bit. "That she cried for days after."

May looks back at Coulson in confusion, but he continues before she can ask.

"For her, life goes on. Even if," he pauses and swallows hard, then shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts and starts over. "Life goes on and the music still plays and rain still falls in Portland."

He smiles.

"That's why I'm here. Not to change the past, but to relive it. To remind myself that it actually happened. I've forgotten things before…" And here his voice breaks and May looks away again. "Sometimes life turns out hard. Sometimes it does nothing but throw lemon after lemon. And sometimes, just when I think it's done its worst, it comes back and chucks another one. Well, I'm pitching those lemons right back because I refuse to let reality continue to ruin my life. I _refuse_ to forget her."

"Then don't," May says firmly and Coulson blinks at her.

"What?"

"Go inside."

"I'm sorry, but I seem to recall a certain agent on my team describing creative means of torture if I dared set foot in this city, let alone in the vicinity of the performance hall. Now you're telling me to go inside?"

May glowers at him. "And yet you're here anyway."

"What good is life without any risk? After all, you only live once," Coulson adds wryly.

May rolls her eyes. "Really?"

"Yup. Bet you didn't know I was the plucky master of clever conversation."

"Oh, I had a pretty good idea." They stand in silence for a moment and May watches as Coulson makes no other move than to bounce on the balls of his feet once or twice. "You do realize that to go inside, you will need to actually _go_ inside."

Coulson shrugs, yet remains firmly rooted. "I'm not sure if I'm ready."

"If you stand here until you're ready, you'll not only miss the concert, but you'll get soaked, catch a cold, and then I'll have to replace you as S.O." Coulson looks at her questioningly, but May only shakes her head at him.

"You've been acting off ever since we were assigned this case. Of course I was concerned about what coming here would do to you. But it's more than that," May pauses, her voice hardening. "You are our commanding officer. You being distracted is dangerous, for all of us. We need you at the top of your game, Phil, physically _and_ mentally. And right now, you're neither."

Coulson stares at her for a moment before looking again at the door.

May brushes past him and yanks the door open, an obvious gesture to _get inside already_. Lights, warmth and music all float outside into the evening air.

"Go. Watch her perform."

Her tone leaves no room for arguments, and she watches as Coulson's mouth quirks up into a small smile. He pulls his shoulders back then, standing tall, before walking toward her. If he's a bit unsteady and unsure of himself, May either doesn't notice, or kindly doesn't comment. He doesn't look at her again, but stops in front of her momentarily, putting a hand on her shoulder in silent gratitude, before disappearing inside.

Behind him, the door silently closes.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

**I am lost to the world  
**based on poems written by Friedrich Rückert

_I am lost to the world__  
__with which I used to waste so much time,__  
__It has heard nothing from me for so long__  
__that it may very well believe that I am dead!_

_It is of no consequence to me__  
__Whether it thinks me dead;__  
__I cannot deny it,__  
__for I really am dead to the world._

_I am dead to the world's tumult,__  
__And I rest in a quiet realm!__  
__I live alone in my heaven,__  
__In my love and in my song!_


End file.
